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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650879">In no one's hands but my own</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin'>ShiDreamin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Gen, Prose Poem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:07:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff"><p>A little prose piece for my favorite MCU speedster.</p></div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In no one's hands but my own</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                “Pietro!”</p>
<p>                Fast. Faster. Fastest.</p>
<p>                The world around him slows, the chaos fleeing as the floors below him turn into ceilings, and the people around him—Tony, Steve, Natasha—turn in slow motion just as he flickers away. He watches them move: the floating bricks, the bullets, the echoes of something that reminds him of home.</p>
<p>                He watches them flicker.</p>
<p>                (It’s him, isn’t him? Him who flickers into, around, away, the solid mass he once found comforting to kick off of now disappearing straight through.)</p>
<p>                He’s scared, Pietro thinks. Helpless. Useless.</p>
<p>                Disappearing into this void. Away from the wind, the bullets, the sounds of war. The attacks, the strangers, the knives. The needles.</p>
<p>                The nightmares, and then the faces that he wakes to, holding him down, pushing him up, bringing him warmed milk and berry jam and the taste of Sunday mornings when mom and dad were alive.</p>
<p>                He’s escaping. Run away faster than any hands could catch him. Faster than even himself, legs alien to his mind. If there is ground beneath him, he can’t even hear the sound of his steps.</p>
<p>                Comfortable.</p>
<p>                Free.</p>
<p>                “Pietro,” Wanda whispers, an echo in his skull, and it’s then, the warbling noise of Clint running, flying, through the windows to come closer, to reach him, that his body allows itself to fall back into place. That the floor stays just that, and he flickers against the tile.</p>
<p>                Sam sees him appear and screams.</p>
<p>                The thudding noise of Clint and Bucky running their way down probably shouldn’t be so comforting. Neither the warbled commands of Steve Rogers, nor the heat of Vision, or the burning bullets lodged into his suit, startled by the hands that drag him into a hug. Clint holds him close, shivering, and it’s only then that Pietro realizes that he’s not vibrating at all.</p>
<p>                He’s still. Perfectly in place. Loose. Easy.</p>
<p>                Alive.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little prose piece for my favorite MCU speedster.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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